


Balancing the Scales

by rachel6141997



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Al and Scorpius are not friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Moaning Myrtle is actually a character, POV First Person, Prank Wars, Rose likes Quiditch, at least mostly not, but they aren't enemies either, i gave into the headgirl headboy temptation sorry not sorry, scorose, they just get along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel6141997/pseuds/rachel6141997
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a week afterwards, Malfoy glanced at me over our cauldron and murmured, “I know it was you…”<br/>“Know what was me?” I asked with equal volume, raising my eyebrows. He looked scornful.<br/>“Don’t bother pretending. I will get you back,” he warned. I laughed in his face.<br/>“You can try,” I retorted, and his eyes glinted.<br/>“Is that a challenge?”  Potion forgotten, he stared me down.<br/>“If you like,” I said coolly, and he grinned suddenly, turning back to the potion.<br/>“Better watch your step, then, Weasley,” he breathed, and the battle lines were drawn.</p><p>And that, my friends, is how the Great Prank War began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balancing the Scales

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA HI  
> So I wrote this in like March and never typed it up until the beginning of this month and it took me this long to post it, so yeah.
> 
> I've been writing a lot recently, actually, but haven't posted because things have been so busy in my life- I have three days left of class, and am graduating high school in a couple weeks :) So between APs and term papers and trying to write my valedictory for graduation things have been pretty busy, but I've finally gotten the chance to post this.
> 
> There's like three or four instances of the F word, and some implied attempted non-con, but it's mostly clean so it's T and up. Sorry about any tpyos, Im' notorioose fr thos. Also, the length. There just didn't seem to be any suitable chapter breaks, so I kept it as is.  
> Hope you enjoy.

My dad had warned me against befriending Scorpius Malfoy. “Don’t get too close, Rosie,” he’d said, along with dire warnings about being sorted outside Gryffindor.

But I have never been particularly good at obeying instructions.

Practically the first things I did upon boarding the Hogwarts Express that first year was to march into Malfoy’s compartment, closely followed by my best friend and cousin, Albus Potter. It wasn’t to spite my father, not at all. I’m never disobedient purely for the sake of it. No, I just thought he looked lonely, all by himself in that compartment and staring pale faced out the window. I didn’t know then that he always looked pale, except when he was angry or embarrassed.

 

“Rose Weasley,” I said with a smile. “Want to be friends?”

At the age of eleven, I had yet to learn subtlety. My mother called me “refreshingly direct”. My father simply called me odd. (But he always said it with a smile and a tousle of my hair, so I knew it was a compliment.)

So perhaps my offer merited a strange look. But it certainly did not deserve the obvious disdain with which Malfoy replied.

“No.”

Al scowled angrily, but I laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“Fine,” I said calmly. “Suit yourself.” And pushing my trunk into a corner of the compartment, I sat down, dragged Al next to me, and proceeded to have an animated conversation with him about Quidditch, ignoring Malfoy completely. Watching out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Malfoy looked annoyed. But he didn’t speak. Maybe if he had, we’d have become friends, despite his curt refusal.

 

But he didn’t, and Al and I were sorted into Gryffindor, while Malfoy became a Slytherin, and I mostly forgot about him (excepting exam times- “Beat him in every test, Rosie,” my father had said, and I had no objection to obeying _that_ instruction- or trying to, at any rate) for the next few years. It wouldn’t be until the start of third year that Malfoy would attract my attention again.

 

XXX

 

When third year started, the additional classes everyone was taking meant a lot of shuffling with the schedules. As a result, instead of having potions with the Ravenclaws like we had for the last two years we now had it with the Slytherins. This didn’t mean much to me until I got to class the first Monday and saw Malfoy already there. He smirked when he saw me.

“Hello, Weasley. Getting creamed last year wasn’t enough for you? Coming back for more?”

“No one can win every time, Malfoy,” I said sweetly. “A fact that you yourself, despite _ample_ evidence, seem determined to ignore.” He flushed slightly. Malfoy had beaten me in Potions by one point last year, but I’d topped in every other class.

 

Al rolled his eyes and dragged me over to a table near the back, dumping his bag.

“Honestly, Rose, class hasn’t even _started_ yet.” I laughed and started to set my bag next to Al’s.

But it was not to be. Horace Slughorn, immensely old and immensely fat, but a brilliant potioneer, bustled into the dungeon, exclaiming when he saw me.

“No, no, Ms. Weasley, I’ve got another partner in mind for you,” he said, beaming like this was some great treat. “I know Potter’s your cousin, and he’s not _too_ bad with a cauldron- though he hasn’t got his father’s talent, more’s the pity- but he’s simply not of your caliber. Mr. Malfoy, here, on the other hand, is a worthy match for your brilliance. Come, come. Move your things.”

Casting a glance at Al, I obeyed, seething with anger. Bad enough that he took my choice, bad enough he paired me with _Malfoy_ , but then he had to go and embarrass Al?

Because, if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, Slughorn had a point. Al was not very good at potions, and it was probably because I’d been partnered with him on the final that I’d lost to Malfoy last year.

 

Al didn’t seem to mind too much however, as an extremely pretty Slytherin girl took my place at his side with a quick smile. Amused, I shook my head and turned to Malfoy. He raised an eyebrow.

“Found an easy way out of losing to me, I see,” he said, voice deadpan. I did not deign to respond, merely shooting him a filthy look and starting on the potion. Malfoy joined me, clearly believing he’d won.

He was dead wrong.

 

It was tricky- very tricky. Casting a complicated enchantment piece by piece, without him noticing, _and_ tending the potion at the same time was not easy. But I wasn’t the daughter of Hermione Granger, “the brightest witch of her age” for nothing. And admittedly, it helped that Malfoy was so bloody good at potions.

In the end, however, I was rewarded with the sight of Malfoy’s peroxide blonde hair turning ever so slightly pink. It wasn’t really noticeable at first, because the change was so slow and the steam from the cauldrons so thick and colorful. But by the time we’d finished and Slughorn ambled over to check our work, my enchantment had taken full effect.

“Very good,” Slughorn said happily, then paused. “I’m not so sure about your hair, however, Mr. Malfoy.” And he moved onto the next pair, leaving a very confused Malfoy in his wake.

Slughorn’s comment drew the notice of the other students. There was a sort of stunned silence at first. Then:

“Scorpius! Your _hair_!” The Slytherin girl I’d swapped places with rushed forward and clutched Malfoy’s arm.

Perfect. Time for phase two.

 

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Malfoy started to ask, then stopped, transfixed.

“It’s- it’s _red_ ,” the girl cried. And so it was- a beautiful, deep, _Weasley_ red. And unbeknownst to her, her own hair was slowly turning scarlet as well. Her friends noticed, however, and clutched at her arms frantically.

“Sylvia, so is _yours_ ,” one cried, then caught a glimpse of her own once raven locks stained red. She screamed.

Chaos descended. Slughorn, who had just finished checking the last cauldron, turned around.

“Oh. Oh, dear,” he said helplessly, staring at the muddle of screaming and laughter.

 

But it didn’t stop there. The red hair spread from student to student. It began to be called the Weasley Plague, and those students who retained their natural coloring attempted to avoid physical contact with red haired people at all costs. This was largely impossible, as it soon became a game among mischief minded souls to try and tag them. Best of all, everyone seemed to know that Malfoy was the source of the epidemic. But dinner time, there wasn’t a soul in the castle- teachers included- who wasn’t red haired. Malfoy was very subdued as he walked to his seat, faced with hundreds of accusing stares.

“You’re worse than James,” Al told me quietly as we ate, his expression admiring. With his red hair, he looked astonishingly like Lily.

“You don’t mind?” I asked anxiously. Most of my family wasn’t affected, obviously, and it was clear James was having the time of his life, proudly proclaiming to one and all that his Weasley genes were showing through- but I worried about Al.

“Nah,’ Al said with a grin. “It’s funny. Besides, if it’s your work, you’ll have made it so it’s not permanent.”

“No, everything will be normal by morning,” I told him.

 

And it was, more or less. Speculation endured for days, but no one guessed it was me apart from Al… and one other.

About a week afterwards, Malfoy glanced at me over our cauldron and murmured, “I know it was you…”

“Know what was me?” I asked with equal volume, raising my eyebrows. He looked scornful.

“Don’t bother pretending. I _will_ get you back,” he warned. I laughed in his face.

“You can try,” I retorted, and his eyes glinted.

“Is that a challenge?”  Potion forgotten, he stared me down.

“If you like,” I said coolly, and he grinned suddenly, turning back to the potion.

“Better watch your step, then, Weasley,” he breathed, and the battle lines were drawn.

 

And that, my friends, is how the Great Prank War began.

 

XXX

 

A few weeks later, Malfoy struck, charming tiny butterflies to follow me around and make rude signs whenever I spoke. I retaliated by hexing him so that everything he said, he sung- to the tune of either “God Save the Queen” or one of Celestina Warbeck’s songs. Malfoy was drafted for the school choir, and exacted revenge by enchanting my school robes to flash in rainbow colors.

 

It soon became a game of sorts, to see how fast we could undo each other’s spells and cast new ones. The pranks grew crazier and more complicated, but they were never cruel, only mildly embarrassing, and rarely involved anyone else. Neither of us ever got detention, though everyone knew the truth, for the simple reason they had no proof.

(I now suspect another reason, as well- years after I graduated, I spoke to Professor McGonagall, and she admitted to me that she and the other teachers found our ingenuity rather amusing)

James did once issue an invitation for me to join him, Fred, and Molly in prank-pulling, but after considering, I regretfully said no. It was personal, I told him, between me and Malfoy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother.

 

After a time, Malfoy and I, oddly enough, became almost friends of a sort. Oh, we were never _friendly_. But I grew to know him better then I knew anyone else, apart from Al and my brother Hugo. And I believe it was mutual: we worked in tandem. We hardly needed to communicate in Potions, anticipating each other and passing ingredients before the other had a chance to ask. There was always banter, of course: acerbic and sharp- but somehow good humored. I called him Malfoy and he called me Weasley, and we worked well together, producing brilliant results. Our teachers soon noticed this and took to pairing us in our other classes, which we shared more and more of as we got older. Inside the classroom we were two halves of a scale, perfectly balanced; outside we were opponents in a long and drawn out duel of epic proportions.

 

The girls in my dorm wiled away hours trying to figure out what precisely was between me and Malfoy. After months of fruitless quarrelling, they presented me with their conclusion: we were either star-crossed lovers or sworn enemies.

I myself cared little, knowing only one thing: whatever we were, we worked, and that was fine by me. Al wasn’t much bothered either, laughing when I regaled him with my dorm-mates latest theories. He simply accepted it as part of what made me Rose. Hugo didn’t even notice at first. He was a Ravenclaw, and his world revolved around class and Quidditch, which he played for Ravenclaw house. When he finally did notice, he simply laughed and moved on.

“One of the first lessons you learn as a Ravenclaw,” he told me, “is that some puzzles can’t be solved- simply contemplated, or left alone to sort themselves out.”

The rest of the family simply sat back and watched. The highlight of every Potter-Weasley gathering was when Al would solemnly relate the details of our latest pranks. He was a masterful storyteller, and infallibly had everyone laughing. Neville, in his hat as my godfather and not my professor, would wink at me, a tacit understanding that what he heard at family gatherings in no way, shape, or form constituted proof of any wrong doing on my part.

 

What was how it was, for over three years: a war and an almost-friendship all muddled together. Then, in my sixth year, the Triwizard Tournament came again to Hogwarts, and everything changed.

 

XXX

 

“How’s your Dad handling it?” I asked Al one Saturday morning in early December as we ate breakfast.

“He’s still freaking out a bit,” Al said with a grimace, “But he knows that James will be fine, and that this won’t be a repeat of his own tournament. It helped that James breezed through the first task like that.”

I nodded, swallowing a mouthful of porridge. “He won’t have any problem getting a date to the Yule Ball, anyway.”

“Wish I had his luck,” Al said glumly, and I pretended not to notice the way his eyes kept sliding over to the Slytherin table.

“Maybe you do,” I said gently. “I think she likes you. But you’ll never know unless you ask.”

“You really think so?” Al asked hopefully, still watching.

“After all the time she spends babying you in potions?” I teased. “She must. You’d have failed your OWLs if not for her. I still can’t believe you made it into the NEWT class.”

“I- alright. I’ll ask her,” he said with sudden determination as Sylvia Platt stood from her table and went to leave the hall. Al took a swig of his pumpkin juice, and I snickered, watching as he followed, as small smile on my face. Then I, too, stood to leave.

 

But dreams of a lazy day spent in the dorms or the library were disappointed as I was accosted just outside the hall by a familiar drawl. Malfoy was leaning against one of the great pillars of fire at the doors into the crowded entrance hall, smirking lazily.

“Say, Weasley. Do you want to go to the ball with me?”

A sort of stunned silence fell immediately. I stared at him, uncertain for the first time in all the years I’d known him.

“Depends,’ I said finally, cautious. “Are you serious, or is this some kind of prank?”

“No prank,” he said cheerfully, “It’s your turn, anyway.” It was true, too- and I hadn’t forgotten. I had my next prank just up my sleeve- literally- and was waiting for a good chance to use it. I hesitated.

“If you like,” I said at last, then immediately added, “But it’s a truce the night of.”

“As you wish,” Malfoy said, and stuck out his hand to seal the deal.

I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.

I took his hand and felt a small jolt as the shock passed through him. There was a smell of burnt hair, and wisps of smoke thinned to reveal Malfoy completely bald, every hair on his body singed off.

“I suppose,” he said after a moment, to the general laughter of the watching students, “this won’t grow back naturally.”

“Put it this way,” I told him with a grin, “Until you find the counter curse you’ll have less hair than a new born babe.” I started to walk away, then paused. “I suggest you hurry. I don’t much fancy going to the ball with a naked mole rat.”

 

Walking back to the Gryffindor common room, I didn’t feel the usual triumph at a prank well played and a sting sweetly delivered. In point of fact, I scarcely noticed when Al, beaming, told me of his success.

“Rose? What’s wrong?” I tore myself from my fog to meet his concerned gaze.

“Malfoy invited me to the Yule Ball,” I told him. “And I said _yes_.”

“Oh, Rose,” Al said, trying not to laugh. “You poor thing, he’s gone and confused you.”

“He really has,” I admitted, flushing. “This- this isn’t _normal._ ”

Al succumbed to his laughter. I couldn’t help smiling myself.

But my uncertainty remained, fluttering in my stomach. Something had changed, and I was afraid to put a name to it.

 

XXX

 

“Ooh, you look stunning, Rose,” Alice Longbottom, my god cousin, squealed. I blushed.

“Yes, darling Scorpius will be so _excited_ to see you,” Siobhan Finnegan said wickedly.

“If he tries anything, I’ll hex his balls off,” I threatened, and she laughed in my face.

“Now, now, Rose,” Maggie Field said placidly. “You agreed it was a truce.”

“Not if he breaks it first!” I bit back.

 

My dorm-mates had been thrilled to hear who I was going to the Ball with, and had accordingly gone all out with respect to my make-up and attire. And I had to admit they’d done well, as I looked in the mirror. I’d chosen a light blue dress that matched my eyes, with hints of green and stormy grey. Siobhan had pinned back my usually wild red curls in braids that gathered into a Celtic knot, and Maggie had fixed my makeup. The unbelievable Alice- whose skill in transfiguration befuddled her father- had enchanted a few strands of garland nicked from the castle decorations into a circlet of mistletoe shaped translucent glass shot through with dusky gold. Looking into the mirror, a lump rose up in my throat. I looked, well, strikingly like my mother, who was widely regarded to be a beauty- though Mum informed me that the opposite had been true when she was at Hogwarts.

“Come on, let’s go down,” Alice said, smoothing her brown curls nervously. “I want to see the boys’ faces.” I exchanged a glance with Maggie and Siobhan, who cracked a smile. Everyone knew that my cousin Fred adored Alice. If she were dressed in rags and her hair filled with muck he would still say she looked beautiful. To be absolutely fair, he’d probably be right. Alice’s smile was so lovely you scarcely noticed anything else.

In any case, Al did look a little startled as I came down, but I understood why- it was the same reason _I_ was startled looking at him. For a moment, when I saw him in his dress robes, I’d have sworn he was his father, my Uncle Harry.

But if Malfoy was taken aback by my appearance, he hid it well, merely bowing and offering me his arm. I bit back my disappointment. I had no reason to be upset, anyway. It wasn’t like this was a real date.

 

It was supremely awkward, at first, but then Malfoy made one of his dry comments, and I responded, and suddenly everything was back to normal. I found, to my surprise, that I was actually enjoying myself. I found myself, well, _noticing_ Malfoy in a way I never had before. The way his eyes, slate grey with flecks of blue, glinted when he made a joke. The way his smile was ever so slightly crooked, and the sweep of his hair across his face. The way that, when he called me Rose for the first time, it felt so _right_.

I smiled blindingly at him, and realized that I was half in love with Scorpius Malfoy already, and could very easily fall completely head over heels.

 

Of course, it was in that moment that he opened his stupid, fat mouth and ruined everything.

“Poor James,” he said, gesturing to a gaggle of girls eyeing my cousin’s date with loathing. “All those girls. Honestly, that’s why I asked you. I knew you’d have no expectations. After all, a Weasley and a Malfoy could never be seriously involved, right?” A chill settled over me.

“Right,” I said, and carried on a polite conversation for a few minutes, before excusing myself.

There were a few fourth years giggling in the bathroom, but at the look on my face, they fled.

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid._

Blinking back tears, I cursed myself for a fool. I’d let the dress and the music and my friends and the magic of the party fool me into thinking in ways that were unacceptable. I knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore how I felt anymore. I’d acknowledged my feelings for him and I couldn’t undo that. But he’d made it very clear there was no possibility of reciprocation, and I wasn’t fool enough to hope that would change.

 

So I dried my eyes and composed myself. Tomorrow, I knew, things would change. But tonight I would indulge myself. I’d go back out to Malfoy, acting as though nothing had happened and I would damn well enjoy myself.

Because tomorrow, things would change.

 

XXX

 

The next time I saw Malfoy was in Herbology the Monday after term started. I’d gone home for the rest of the holiday, and had done quite a bit of thinking. I knew now how I was going to act around Malfoy.

“Weasley,” he greeted me cheerfully over the whipping threads of venomous tentacula.

“Malfoy,” I replied politely. _Politely_ \- that was my watchword. The whole of the period I was friendly and distant to an increasingly bewildered Malfoy. I was determined to act as though the last few years had never happened, and Malfoy meant nothing to me. Even the banter, which had preceded our prank-war friendship, was gone. Every time Malfoy tried to tease me, I diffused the situation instead of retorting, taking whatever he said with a polite smile or self-deprecating comment.

By the time class ended, I was sick with the effort of holding my tongue.

 

There were three more classes- three classes of Malfoy’s confusion, my heartache, and the growing whispers of our classmates. When lunch came at last, I skipped the Great Hall; hurrying mindlessly through the castle until I reached the one place no one would disturb me.

Breathing hard, I shut the door behind me and promptly dissolved into tears.

“Dear, oh dear. What _is_ the matter?” the girl’s voice was soft, and genuinely curious behind the snide tones. I looked up to see Moaning Myrtle staring at me.

“A boy,” I mumbled, and then suddenly the whole story came tumbling out of me in a stream- no, a torrent- of words.

I don’t know why I told her. Maybe I just needed to tell _someone_ , and I knew Myrtle wouldn’t share. She didn’t have anyone to share it with. I think it surprised her, because she was unexpectedly kind.

 

“I never had much luck either,” she told me wistfully. “Not when I was alive, and not when I was died. There were two boys some years ago. But Harry Potter never did come to see me, and then Draco did such _awful_ things. That’s probably why your Scorpius did what he did.”

“He’s not my Scorpius,” I said protested, but her words comforted me. I preferred to think that his rejection was because of the War rather than me.

“Be as it may,” Myrtle said calmly. “Do come again. I like you.”

“Er, yeah. I will, I guess,” I told her blankly.

Then I left, for another few hours of torture.

 

XXX

 

Malfoy did not make things easy for me, but eventually he gave up trying to get me to react. Often, I would catch him staring at me as though I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out, but then he would look away quickly, as though my gaze burned him. We continued to be partnered in all our classes, and we retained that odd balance that allowed us to work so well together. But the laughter was gone, leaving only a quiet connection and a mutual determination to succeed. I rarely looked at him or spoke to him, and sometimes I could almost forget how I felt.

Sometimes. Almost.

 

I had expected to be pestered by questions from everyone, but no one asked. I knew people were confused and surprised, but it was like the subject was taboo. No more did my dorm mates speculate on the nature of my relationship with Malfoy. In fact, sometimes when his name came up in casual conversation, I would see them shoot frightened looks at me, as though worried at my reaction. Only once did anyone ever say anything; and that was shortly after the start of term.

“Rose,” Al said seriously, “Did he hurt you?” It was out of the blue, but I didn’t pretend ignorance.

“No,” I said truthfully. And we left it at that, though I knew Al wasn’t happy.

 

To be honest, when I formulated my plan during break, I hadn’t understood yet how far I’d take it. But it quickly became apparent to me what my course of action meant.

The Weasley-Malfoy Prank War had finally come to a close.

Malfoy had avenged his baldness before the Yule Ball, so it had been my turn again. But I simply let it go. I don’t know how long it took for everyone else to catch on, but after a few months it was obvious that no pranks were forthcoming. This surrender of mine, I suppose you could call it, did have unintended consequences. The time I had previously devoted to planning my next prank and dealing with the effects of Malfoy’s latest I was now free to spend concentrating on school and Quidditch. I never realized how much energy dealing with Malfoy had taken until I stopped. Faced with unexpected amounts of free time, my scores improved, my playing improved, and I even started tutoring some of the younger students- anything to keep my mind off Malfoy.

 

And for the most part, I was successful. But every so often the strain would get to be too much, and I would retreat to my safe haven- Myrtle’s bathroom. I poured my heart out to the ghost girl the way I couldn’t to anyone else. When Malfoy confused me, she knew. When he made me so angry I’d bitten my tongue trying to remain silent, heard me vent my frustrations. When he was devastatingly perfect and my heart was breaking because he didn’t feel the same way, it was Myrtle I went to.

I spent a great deal of time in her bathroom that year.

Myrtle was glad of the company, and could be relied upon to distract me with stories of Hogwarts past. I found her to be rather fascinating, once you got past her tendency to burst into tears unexpectedly. But then, as I was generally in tears when I came to her, I was hardly in a position to complain. We formed an odd sort of friendship- nearly as odd as the one Malfoy and I had shared- and the ghost was a great comfort to me. Although if I’d ever said so to anyone, they’d think me quite mad.

 

XXX

 

There is one other incident of note that occurred during my sixth year. Although I’d never dated anyone, and never really been interested in a relationship until Malfoy had waltzed into my dreams, this apathy was not entirely reciprocated. There was one seventh year Ravenclaw who took to hanging around me. I was completely oblivious, merely annoyed by him, so it came as rather a surprise when he caught me unawares in an empty hallway one night and confessed his love for me.

“You- what?” I could only stare, completely taken aback. The Ravenclaw, Dominic Goldstein, seemed not to notice my discomfort. He caught my hands in his.

“It’s alright, Rose. You needn’t pretend any longer.” I started to protest that I wasn’t pretending anything at all when he pulled me forwards sharply and kissed me.

 

It was my first kiss, and it was not a very nice one. Goldstein was rough and hungry, and I stood frozen for a few awful seconds as he pawed at me and attempted to eat my face.

Then I came to my senses, and several things happened in quick succession.

I pushed him away, crying out, “Get off me!” to a confused looking Goldstein.

A familiar voice shouted “Rose!” in alarm.

I managed to break free from Goldstein’s embrace, and stumbling backwards, fell on my back.

Footsteps came running.

I scrabbled for my wand, pulled it out, and hexed Goldstein with the Bat Bogey Curse my Aunt Ginny had taught me and all my other girl cousins in our third years.

And Professor McGonagall came around the corner in time to see me with my wand stretched out, scrambling to my feet, and Goldstein prostrate, clutching his face.

 

“Ms. Weasley!” McGonagall cried, shocked. “What is the meaning of this?”

“H-h-headmistress,” I stammered, lowering my wand. I was still stunned from Goldstein’s advances.

“It’s not her fault, Professor,” another voice said, and I turned to see Malfoy, face flushed with anger and wand still out. “Goldstein tried to force himself on her. She broke free and hexed him.” A brief, tense silence fell, punctuated by Goldstein’s moans. Then McGonagall drew herself up in all her stern majesty.

“Is this true, Rose?” I felt my face turn as red as my hair.

“Yes,” I said, in the smallest voice possible. I had never been so embarrassed and ashamed in all my life.

“Self defense is permitted,” McGonagall said kindly. Then with steel, continued, “And sexual harassment is most certainly _not_. Rest assured, my dear, Mr. Goldstein will answer for his actions. Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey?”  Mutely, I shook my head, and with a curt nod, she flicked her wand and levitated Goldstein, sending him before her to, presumably, the Hospital Wing.

I watched the spot where she had gone, motionless. Finally there was a gentle hand on my arm, and I flinched.

 

“Are you alright, Weasley?” I stared at Malfoy. _Back to last names, I see._

“I’m fine,” I said flatly. There was a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach and I felt filthy and- no, I was definitely not _fine_.

“Are you sure?” He asked intently. “You look pale.” Angrily I shook his hand off my arm.

“I’m _fine_ ,” I repeated, fighting the rising hysteria in my voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go clean the taste of that slime ball from my mouth and have a good cry, thanks.” His eyes widened and he reached out.

I pushed past him blindly and ran towards the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor.

“Spring air,” I gasped, and darted in, stripping. I flung on every tap in the giant bath and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed, and scrubbed all over my body, especially my face and mouth. The salt of my tears mingled with soapsuds was not a pleasant taste, but I preferred it to Goldstein.

 

At last, exhausted, I crawled out of the tub, dried myself off, and dressed again. I curled up on the marble floor hugging my knees and wept.

My first kiss, ruined- just like everything else in my crappy life. (At least, so I felt at the time.)

“Rose?” I looked up, startled, and found Myrtle sliding down from one of the taps. “Why are you crying _here?_ Is it Malfoy again?”

“No. Well, yes. Ugh…“ And I told her what had happened. She listened silently, and when I finished, offered no words, only a silent understanding.

Finally, she remarked, “He called you Rose.” I sighed and buried my face in my hands.

“I have given up trying to understand him,” I said bitterly, anger rising. “He’s so goddamned unpredictable it makes me want to scream. He has no _fucking clue_ what he does to me, day in, day out. How much it hurts-“

 

There was a clatter behind me. I whipped around to find the last person I wanted to see- Scorpius Malfoy, in the flesh, looking stunned. The color drained from my face and I cursed my stupidity. How much had he heard? In my haste, I had forgotten to mark the door occupied when I came in. I was lucky no one had entered while I was bathing.

“I’m- I’m sorry, the door was marked open, I’ll- I’ll just be going now,” he said, stuttering and blushing scarlet as he scrambled to pick up the shower bag he’d dropped.

“There’s no need,” I said quickly. “I was just going.” And with a brief glance of apology at Myrtle, I fled.

 

The next day, Malfoy cornered me before class, looking determined.

“Who were you talking to Myrtle about? Who’s hurting you?” He looked quite fierce, grey eyes angry.

“No one,” I said stonily. “And I’ll thank you to stay out of my business.” He flinched, and didn’t bring it up again.

 

XXX

 

All things considered, it was a relief when June rolled around, and we boarded the train to go home. Three months free of Malfoy related strains and stresses- it seemed like paradise.

But I was to encounter him once more, on Platform 9 ¾. I’d left Al to say goodbye to his girlfriend, Sylvia (I had no desire to witness the inevitable snogging- the very thought still made me cringe) and Malfoy caught me alone.

“Weasley! Wait a moment.” I considered my options, and reluctantly paused, allowing him to read my side. He examined my face, then asked quietly, “Can you tell me this, at least? Why did you never prank me back?” I swallowed.

“I grew up, Malfoy,” I said simply. “And I think it’s time you did as well.”

I left him there on the platform, looking lost.

 

XXX

 

Apart from one painfully awkward moment at the next family gathering, when the cousins asked Al for tales of my latest escapades, and Al was forced to reply with an unhappy glance in my direction that there weren’t any, my summer was everything I wanted it to be.

Until Hugo and I received our Hogwarts letters, that is.

Hugo was excited and hopeful. I couldn’t care less, and wasn’t really paying attention as I opened my letter, until I saw the gleaming badge that rolled into my hand. I stared at it, stunned. I’d never expected this. It wasn’t possible.

 

Hugo’s shout of delight caught my attention, and I shoved the badge and my Hogwarts letter (unread) into my pocket. Mum and Dad came running.

“I’m a prefect! I’m a prefect,” Hugo yelled, and our parents beamed.

“Second in the family,” my dad said happily as he ruffled Hugo’s hair. I swallowed. I couldn’t take Hugo’s spotlight. He stuck to the shadows often enough as it was. So I smiled brightly and congratulated him.

“What about you, Rose?” Mum asked, raising her eyebrows. “Did you get the Quidditch Captaincy?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “No Quidditch badge.” Dad’s smile faltered, and Hugo frowned.

“But you’re the best player in Gryffindor now James is gone,” he accused. “Better than Al, even. Why didn’t-“

“I’m sure they had their reasons, Hugo,” I said calmly. He scowled. “Come on,” I said lightly. “You’re a prefect. We should celebrate.” Hugo’s eyes lit with pride again, though I knew he didn’t believe that Professor McGonagall had her reasons.

But I knew better. The reason I wasn’t Quidditch Captain sat unnaturally heavy in my pocket: a small, shiny badge labeled HEADGIRL.

 

XXX

 

I should probably explain.

Yes. I am a prefect. But what isn’t very well known is that I almost wasn’t one.

See, while the teachers never had _proof_ that Malfoy and I were engaged in a long and drawn out prank way, it didn’t exactly take a Ravenclaw to figure out the truth. At the very beginning of fifth year, McGonagall had pulled me aside and given me a stern warning.

“In every respect but one, Ms. Weasley, you were a shoe-in for the prefect spot, as was Mr. Malfoy. That one respect, however, was serious enough that it nearly lost you both the privilege. Your prank war- and do not even try to deny it, Ms. Weasley- your prank war has so far avoided affecting your school work or your relations with other students. It is for this reason that we are permitting it to slide- that and the fact that in every other area you show the maturity, responsibility, and leadership skills that are ideal for a prefect. However, should this change- should you littler war _ever_ interfere with the fulfillment of your duties, your prefect status will be revoked immediately and permanently. I’m placing my trust in you, Ms. Weasley. Don’t disappoint me.”

 

I’d been doubly careful to follow her instructions, but the interview had made it crystal clear to me that there was little chance I’d ever be selected for the Head Girl-ship. I hadn’t minded much, to be honest- I never really wanted the position, though it had stung to admit I didn’t have a chance of getting it if I did. Still, it’s no wonder, then, that I found this sudden reversal in position so disconcerting.

 

XXX

 

Weasleys being Weasleys, and needing little excuse for a party, the whole family gathered to celebrate at No. 12 Grimauld Place.  Hugo was not the only new prefect. Lily, too, had won a badge, and the missing Quidditch badge had surfaced in Al’s hands. The relief on his face when I told him I didn’t mind more than made up for the tiny voice in the back of my head that tried to whisper that I did mind, yes indeed, very much so.

There was a tense moment when my godfather and his family arrived.

“Hugo’s made prefect,” Mum said proudly, kissing Neville on the cheek in greeting. He grinned.

“And Rose?” he asked cheerfully, the stilled as Mum’s face fell slightly.

“Al got the Quidditch badge,” she said, then frowned. “But you’re Head of House, surely you knew that?”

“Sorry, I, er- got a bit confused,” Neville said slowly, and he looked it, as he glanced at me. I kept my face expressionless, but it was obvious he knew. “Never mind,” he said. “Congratulations, Hugo.” My brother smiled, but I knew he hadn’t missed a thing. Hopefully my brother the bloody Ravenclaw wouldn’t figure it out before I was ready to tell.

 

“Thanks for not saying,” I told Neville quietly a few hours later. The party was in full swing, and my godfather had followed me out into the quiet of the magical gardens Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry had built with his help. Now he put his arms around me, and I leaned into his embrace, feeling my eyes stinging.

“You’ve got to say eventually,” he murmured.

“I know.”

 

When we got home some hours later, I crept up to my bed, and took the crumpled letter from my pocket. There was a small handwritten note on top, which I read first.

_Dear Ms. Weasley,_

_After our conversation two years ago, this appointment likely comes as a surprise to you. Yet I stand by what I said then: you possess in ample measure the qualities of an ideal prefect, and an ideal Head. All that has ever held you back was your prank war with Mr. Malfoy, and it has become apparent that this is no longer an issue. I take the cessation of hostilities as evidence of an increase on maturity on your part and that of Mr. Malfoy’s. You two have always worked well together in class, and I trust you will continue to do so as Co-Heads._

_Yours,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

 

I sat frozen, staring at the last sentence. Then I searched the official letter, the terrible words popping out at me. _You will be serving alongside Mr. Scorpius Malfoy, the new Head Boy._

I was consigned to spending most of the next year in the constant company of Malfoy.

 

XXX

 

It was a few days before I finally told my parents.

“Mum, Dad, I have something to tell you.” It was late at night. Hugo had already gone to bed, and my parents were sitting at the kitchen table talking quietly. They looked up at my words in surprise.

“Rose? What is it?” Dad asked, gesturing for me to sit. I obeyed, and took a deep breath.

“This,” I said carefully, “is why I didn’t make Quidditch Captain.” I placed my badge gingerly on the table. Dad sucked in a quick breath, and my mother’s eyes filled with tears.

“Rose, why didn’t you _say_?” My mother asked finally, and Dad took her hand. (Under the table, but it was still pretty obvious. My parents are like that.)

“I didn’t want to steal Hugo’s glory,” I told them, and then confessed, “And I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”

“Not proud?” My father said dryly. “I certainly am. Head Girl! George will tease me for ages, but it’s worth it. Mum snickered.

“I don’t know, Ron. Roxanne’s a _very_ good girl,” she said wickedly. “In a few years time, you might be the one laughing.”

“I’m laughing now,” Dad said cheerfully. “Because I’ve got Rosie for a daughter, and he hasn’t.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, smiling. I though then (and still do, honestly) that I don’t deserve my parents.

 

They must have let everyone else in the family know quietly, because everyone _did_ seem to know, but no one made a fuss about it. Al did tell me he was glad there was a good reason he’d gotten the captainship instead, because he would have felt awful if they’d chosen him over me despite my skill because of “other reasons”. I laughed at him.

“Oh, Al. McGonagall would never do that, you know. Besides. Your Dad may be “the Chosen One”, but I’ve got _two_ parents from the Golden Trio. I think my influence outweighs yours.”

“As if,” Al said, but he looked unnecessarily relieved. “Anyway, who’s the Head Boy? Do you know?” I grimaced.

“Malfoy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be alright,” he promised. I rolled my eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Course I will. I’m more than a match for Malfoy.”

 

XXX

 

“Malfoy,” I greeted him civilly when he entered the Heads compartment on the first of September.

“Scorpius,” he corrected firmly. “We’re Co-Heads, Rose. I think we can use first names.” I hesitated.

“Very well,” I conceded grudgingly. Malfoy (I didn’t have to call him Scorpius in the privacy of my own head!) smiled that smug, slightly crooked grin of his, and my heart skipped a beat, my face warming.

God. I’d forgotten the effect he had on me.

“So, er, what do you know about this year’s prefects?” I asked quickly. Malfoy took to this subject with verve. It turned out that between us we had a pretty good idea of the strengths and weaknesses of out classmates. Perhaps McGonagall’s decision to choose us as Heads wasn’t as barmy as I thought.

At last, a few minutes after the train set off, there was nothing left to be said.

“You ready?” Malfoy asked. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, feeling the thrill of a challenge.

“You bet,” I said firmly, and together we entered the prefect’s carriage for our first meeting.

 

To put it simply, we were a _smashing_ success.

It was like the first time you cast a spell and it actually works, or the first time you pull of a successful prank, or like staring down at the ground from hundreds of feet above, or discovering your best friend, or falling in love- God. It was like all those things and none of them at all, really. A little bit of wonder, triumph, terror, happiness, and passion all mixed together, and you know there’s no going back.

It was Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy, united in purpose like we’d never been before. It was the best of our prank war and the best of the classroom, and it was a fearsome thing to behold.

Yes, I might be a little biased.

 

But we passed control of the meeting back and forth with natural ease, reading each other’s intent with the briefest of glances. Neither of us had planned what we were going to say, but everything seemed to come out perfectly, our observations and advice mixing seamlessly. I think at one point we might actually have been finishing each other’s sentences. We certainly held the prefects spellbound. And when we finished laying out our plans for the year ahead, and Malfoy asked cheerfully for suggestions, they complied with enthusiasm and creativity- the surest sign of success in my mind.

 

When we finally dismissed everyone for patrol duty, it was like a spell had broken. I heard a rising murmur outside the compartment, and when Hugo and Lily left my brother sent me a stunned look over his shoulder. I flushed.

“You were brilliant, Rose,” Malfoy said breathlessly, eyes sparkling.

“ _We_ were brilliant, Scorpius,” I corrected him, and simply grinned.

It was the beginning.

 

XXX

 

I’m not really sure what changed, exactly. But my nine month long denial of our odd almost-friendship was at an end. It didn’t happen right away, of course, but one day Malfoy made a joke and I joked back, and we both sort of froze for an instant before deciding it didn’t matter. And the next time it happened, we didn’t notice, and before long, the warmth of the banter was back- when we worked together as Heads, that is. But then it bled over into class, and then into the rest of our lives. Finally, it hit me, close to a year after the Yule Ball, that where we had been rivals then class partners then almost-friends, we were now just… friends.

 

It wasn’t very long after that I finally admitted to myself that I’d fallen all the way in love with Malfoy. Thus, the actual anniversary of the Yule Ball found me crying with Myrtle again. I’d kept coming to see her, but instead of venting about Malfoy I’d just been talking with her- like she was one of my girl friends and not a ghost with a castle-wide reputation for unpleasant hysterics. I suppose she rather was.

Now I wept with her again, but I knew things would be different this time.

“I am not going to do that again,” I said adamantly. “It didn’t work and I felt awful. I think if I tried to stop being friends with him now it would kill me.”

“Probably,” Myrtle agreed cheerfully. “You’ve been a hopeless case since day one. But if you do die you’re welcome to share me toilet.” I caught her gaze and snickered.

“And haunt the prefect’s bathroom, forever ogling men?” I said dryly. “Perhaps not.”

“But you could ogle _him_ ,” she said slyly, and I flushed beet red. “Perhaps not,” she said wickedly.

“ _Definitely_ not.”

 

And I managed, I suppose. When I forgot that I was in love with him, and that he would never love me back, I was happier than I’d ever been. I was lucky that Al and Malfoy were friendly, because I could spend time with both my best friends. We were winning at Quidditch, Malfoy and I were top of our class, and I took to being Head Girl like a fish to water. Life was… really good, and it never even occurred to me, even on those occasional moments when Malfoy and I matched gazes and the air between us seemed to become charged with energy, that he might feel the same way.

 

XXX

 

It was in late March that everything exploded.

We were in the study we shared after a prefect’s meeting that had gone particularly well, laughing and joking as we cleaned up, when one of those moments came, and Malfoy tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and suddenly I couldn’t breathe for staring at him.

“Rose,” he said softly, and kissed me.

 

For a single, stunned, sunlit instant, I kissed him back. Then reason reasserted itself and I tore away.

“How- how dare you,” I said, voice shaking with rage and hurt, eyes so filled with tears that his face was a blur. “I’m not- not some kind of, of _whore_ to be used anytime you want a k-kiss or a date- I-“ I broke off and turned trying to run out the door. But he was there before me.

“No! No—damn it, Rose! You are _not_ going to do this to me again-“ He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at him, voice as angry as my own. “I won’t let you shut me out again.”

His words shattered something in me. I blinked away my tears and met his gaze with a sudden, unnatural calm.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” I said quietly, with as much venom as I could muster. His face went blank with shock, and he shut his eyes. I shook his suddenly slack hands off my shoulders and pushed past him out of the room.

I didn’t go to Myrtle’s.

 

XXX

 

The next day was one of the worst in my life, rivaling even the day my beloved Granddad Granger died. Scorpius and I ignored each other in an icy silence. The connection between us that had allowed us to work so seamlessly together since third year was broken. If Malfoy wanted a potions ingredient, he could bloody well get it himself. Our professors seemed rather stunned by the whole thing, but not one dared ask. No one did. Not even Al or Hugo.

 

No one dared say anything to me at all, actually. I was so obviously ready to snarl at anyone who had the temerity to break my self-imposed isolation that they knew there wasn’t much point in trying. I am ashamed to admit that my personal thundercloud was so volatile that no one wanted to speak in front of me either. After the first painfully silent meal in the Great Hall I stopped coming. I didn’t think it fair to force my temper on the house-elves either (my mother’s upbringing in that) so I mostly went hungry. To my everlasting shame, my room-mates stuck by me, and took to leaving bits of food out by my bed.

 

After the first day, I started getting daily letters from my parents, but I never opened them. I did wonder what I’d do if they sent a Howler, but it never progressed to that point, thankfully. None of my family or professors were willing to risk my temper, but as already shown they were not above such sneaky and underhanded methods as owling my parents.

Or asking Malfoy.

 

XXX

 

After two of the worst weeks ever, I overheard Al cornering Malfoy.

“What is it?” Malfoy was angry. I knew he’d been avoiding everyone, too.

“You know exactly what it is,” Al said, voice dangerous. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Why do you assume it’s _my_ fault?” Malfoy snapped back.

“Because if Rose was to blame she’d have apologized already.” (I think Al underestimates my stubbornness, sometimes. But then, that’s what cousins and best friends are for. Always sticking by you.)

There was a long silence. Then Malfoy’s voice came, low and anguished.

“I kissed her.” More silence. Al’s voice, shocked.

“Dear God. That’s the _worst_ thing you could have done.”

I had been standing frozen, but now I turned and ran. I didn’t want to hear anymore.

 

XXX

 

He borrowed the Marauder’s Map from Al (James had passed it on last year with a wink and a grin) and tracked me down in a hidden alcove behind a statue in the least frequented part of the castle. I’d been finding all sorts of out of the way hidey-holes lately, and this was my favorite. The stone woman weeping as she held the broken body of a child fit my mood.

So it was a rather unpleasant surprise to have my peace interrupted by Malfoy.

“Rose, I _lied_ , _”_ he said in a rush before I could speak. “At the Yule Ball. I was lying, to you and mostly to myself, because I didn’t want to admit the truth.” He stopped, swallowing audibly. I held my self very still.

“The truth?” my voice was soft and rusty from disuse. Malfoy stepped closer, pulling me to my feet.

“That I was falling in love with you,” he told me simply, meeting my gaze- and what I saw in his eyes made my knees go weak.

“Oh,” was all I could say, in my smallest voice. Scorpius (the last remnant of my damned stubbornness crumbling at last!) took my hands. I swallowed, and added, “I’ve been such an idiot.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But so have I. And I was an idiot first.” My lips twitched into my first smile in two weeks.

“For lying to me?” He grinned slowly, and nodded.

“Yeah. But not the time you’re thinking up. That first day on the train, when I said I didn’t want to be your friend.”

I stared. Then I kissed him.

 

XXX

 

When we walked into the Great Hall that night hand in hand, there was a kind of stunned silence, spreading from those sitting nearest the entrance, down the four long tables and at last reaching the High Table where the teachers sat. McGonagall turned from her conversation with Neville, raised a thin eyebrow, and said audibly, “It’s about time.”

Silence. A snicker. Then the Hall erupted into applause, cheers, laughter and wolf whistles as Scorpius and I both blushed a bright red that put even Weasley hair to shame. I glanced at him and he at me, and an understanding passed between us.

We sat at the Gryffindor table that night, next to Al, who I noted was gleefully collecting gold from disgruntled classmates (Including my dorm-mates and more than a few Weasley cousins.)

And we silently plotted our revenge.

 

XXX

 

The very last day of school, we got it.

It was the morning after the End of Year Feast, and Al was staring mournfully at his food.

“The last time I’ll eat at Hogwarts,” he said sadly, and Scorpius grinned. (We sat at the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables in turns, and we both agreed that for today, it had to be Gryffindor. No self respecting Slytherin would ever do what we’d done.)

“Cheer up, Al” he advised. “You’ve signed on for Puddlemere United, for God’s sake.” Al snorted.

“Yes, and you and Rose got your potions fellowship and your ministry internship. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re _leaving Hogwarts_.” I saw his eyes flick towards the Slytherin table and laughed.

“Merlin, Al. Are you a wizard or what? You can see her any bloody time you want.” Al went red and started eating. Sniggering, I glanced at Scorpius. The Great Hall was completely full. It was time.

 

Simultaneously, we flicked our wands under the table and cast the nonverbal trigger for our spell. It had been almost ridiculously easy- not the spell work itself, of course, which had taken several consecutive nights of prepwork- but setting it up without getting caught. As the Head Boy and Head Girl, it had been a simple matter to arrange the nighttime patrol schedules so that we were responsible for the area around the Great Hall for a week.

 

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then the sunny ceiling of the Great Hall grew overcast, dark clouds sweeping in from the south. Teachers and students alike looked up in surprise, then gasped as a light misting rain fell, turning into a rapid deluge. Then it was over, and everything was dry again- but there was one major difference in the storm’s wake.

Everyone, from Professor McGonagall to the youngest first year, now sported a head of pale, blonde, unmistakable _Malfoy_ hair.

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said ominously from the Head Table, “Would you care to explain?”

“Well,” Professor,” Scorpius said cheerfully, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Rose and I thought it fitting that we should go out the same way we came in.” McGonagall stared in disbelief.

“Ms. Weasley- that was _you?_ ” I tossed my hair- now curly and blonde (yet still with streaks of red. Alas, the Weasley genes are indomitable…) over my shoulder and grinning, raised my goblet to her in a toast.

And McGonagall, with a sudden, small smile, lifted her own goblet back.

 

Scorpius and I got to our feet in the shocked silence that followed, and left the Great Hall to thunderous applause.

 

XXX

 

We’re getting married tomorrow.

I won’t say that everything’s been wonderful since then, because it would be a blatant lie. We’ve had more than our fair share of arguments and hurt feelings and messy makeups.

But when it comes down to it, Scorpius Malfoy knows me better than anyone, even Al and Hugo. And I know him.

And that means we know we love each other.

 

My Dad’s walking me down the aisle tomorrow. At practice earlier today, he asked me, “Rosie, love, how exactly did we end up here?” I laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“It’s all your fault, Daddy,” I told him. He rolled his eyes.

“I am never going to live that down,” he said dryly.

“Nope,” I said with a smile.

“Poor boy. You’re terrible, you know,” he said mournfully.

“Oh, but Daddy,” I said wickedly, “He’s just as bad. We balance the scales.”

“Yeah. I know. That’s the trouble.” And Dad led me on his arm to the man I love.

**Author's Note:**

> So thanks for sticking thorough this with me, I rewrote the ending like five times. The story was about getting them together, not their family's reactions to it, but it did want to give some indication of Ron's feelings. In my headcanon he's not super pleased at first, but he's far more mature than as a teenager and is pretty much resigned. By the time the wedding rolls around, he's completely won over by Scorpius, but he keeps up a pretense of grumpy Dad because of his pride.  
> Anyway, it was really fun trying to write in Rose's voice, and I hope you like her as much as I did. I'm thinking of writing a companion piece from Scorpius' point of view- let me know if you think that's a good idea.  
> Remember, comments feed the author, and I am currently starving. :)


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